


Frost

by EndoratheWitch



Series: Holiday Drabble requests [11]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Jack Frost - Freeform, Magic, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was asked to do a story in which Bog was Jack Frost.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Frost

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked to do a story in which Bog was Jack Frost.

Marianne yanked her hat down hard over her head until she could barely see with the hat so low on her brow. The frosty wind blew around her as she marched down the street, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He watched her walk by as he perched, crouched on a fence that was slowly being coated in a layer of fine white frost. 

His hair was white where long ago it has been black, his skin so pale it would remind one of the winter wind. He followed her with eyes of icy blue, his heart burning warmly in his chest. She hadn’t always hated winter, when she was younger she had loved playing in the ice and snow, but when she ended things with that jerk boyfriend of hers, her attitude toward winter changed. She had dumped him at the beginning of the first frost. Now, part of her associated the chill with the lack of love in her life. But it wasn’t just winter, it was everything. Nothing brought her any joy. 

He sighed. It hurt him to have her feel this way now when she use to love the frost and snow. She shivered pulling her coat tightly around her. He dropped down to walk beside her unseen. His title was Jack Frost, but before that he had been a man named Bog and in his chest still beat the heart of a man. He knew that part of his issue with her loss of joy in the winter chill was that he had fallen in love with her; by not loving winter any longer, then he felt she would never love him. Which was completely stupid. 

Spirits like him had no business falling in love with mortals, but he had been mortal once. When he looked at Marianne, her wild brown eyes, her hair the color of forest bark, whipped and wild from the wind, the way she smiled, laughed, the simple joy that was Marianne, he knew his heart was still capable of mortal love. 

He waited while she went into a shop, watching her. She seemed so heartbroken. She came back out with her bag of groceries. He followed her home, occasionally freezing some windows or creating ice on sidewalks that caused a few people to slip and fall on their butts with a snort of laughter from him, but no reaction from her. He kept trying to coax a smile from her. But she never smiled, not once on the way home. 

* 

Marianne sat at the window of her apartment sipping hot cocoa. Bog crouched outside watching her with his staff across his legs, his heart breaking for her. He wanted more than anything to see her smile again so he decided to do something he knew was against the rules. He moved closer to the window, touching the glass. Frost twisted from his finger into the form of a flower. 

Marianne stared at the window, her brown eyes opening wide in amazement as she gazed at the flower. Then slowly, from behind the frosted glass, a figure formed on the other side. A man with white hair and startling blue eyes, his skin so pale it looked to be made of ice. She shrieked, falling backwards out of her chair, spilling hot cocoa everywhere, making her squeal again. Bog gasped in surprise, leaping back from the window. 

She saw him??!!! 

He quickly opened the window, the winter wind blowing him inside. He landed softly near her, his voice frantic. “Are you hurt??” 

She stuttered, getting to her feet, ready to use her now empty mug as a weapon as she gazed upon at him. Not only was he pale, he was thin as a rail and very, very tall.“Who? What are you???” 

Bog held his hand out to her while in his other hand he held his staff of twisted bark, a moon colored stone in the middle of it. He looked a bit sheepish as he muttered, “Jack Frost, or well, at least that is what I am called by many but, well…you…my name is Bog.” 

Marianne rubbed her eyes with one hand, still holding the mug in a defensive manner. “I must be dreaming because that is the only way this could be happening.” 

Bog frowned, looking uncomfortable. “You’re not dreaming, but I can go away.” She tilted her head then slowly put her mug down. “Okay, well, I suppose chasing away a supernatural being would be silly. I mean this is the stuff you read about in books right?” 

Bog smiled softly. “Aye, maybe this is a dream? For us both?” He reached out for her hand. She stared at it, then at him. Bog whispered. “You have been so sad, let me make winter magical for you again?” 

She hesitated only a moment. If this was a dream, then she might as well enjoy it, if it wasn’t then she should grab onto the magic with both hands for the same reason, to enjoy this magic suddenly heaved into her life. She took his hand. Long elegant fingers wrapped around hers; his grip was cool, but surprisingly not cold. He smiled. “As along as you are with me, you will be safe from the cold.” 

He moved her to the window. She grinned, feeling a bit manic. This was so crazy, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and with a wickedly happy smile, he leapt into the night. 

Marianne let out a scream of fright that quickly morphed into a scream of delight as the wind caught them. Suddenly she was flying. Bog held onto her, his grip firm and strong. She did not feel the least bit afraid with him and, true to his word, she felt almost nothing of the biting cold. 

Bog turned to her whispering. “I want to bring back to you the joy you use to feel in winter, the love you once had for it.” 

She stared at him in surprise; this magical creature cared about her happiness? He flew her down to the park where she would play with her sister when they were children. It was covered in snow, twinkling lights decorated the trees. They landed softly, Bog taking her hand and walking her by the frozen lake. He stepped out onto it, his bare feet creating a glittering sheen of additional ice. Marianne looked a little frightened as he held her hand, gently pulling her out onto the ice as he said with a smile. “Trust me.” He held the staff so she could grab it with her other hand and then he started to move them over the icy surface. 

After a moment, she let out a tinkling laugh, releasing her hold on his staff, but maintaining a grip on his hand as he glided them along the icy lake. She felt only the exhilaration of skating, the chilled wind, and saw this magical being’s blue eyes. He laughed and she laughed with him. He waved his staff and flakes like tiny crystallized diamonds started to fall around them as he pulled her close, putting his arm around her waist moving her slowly in a figure eight. They danced on the ice until the moon was high, the stars their only audience. Soon Bog took her out into the snow, the two of them falling into a bank laughing, waving their arms and legs about making snow angels. 

She gathered up a ball of snow throwing it at him. He dodged into the air with a laugh using his staff to magically whip the snow up making her squeal as he rained it down on her, then dived down to grab her around her waist pulling her into the air. She laughed with joy, full of abandon, her eyes bright, her cheeks rosy, like the old Marianne she had been. She wrapped her arms around his neck smiling at him and Bog felt his heart break. He loved her—he would always love her. 

As the sky began to lighten, he brought her back to her apartment. She was radiant as he set her down, landing silently beside her. “Oh, Bog, Jack, whatever your name is—thank you! Thank you so much.” 

He blushed with a soft smile on his cool lips. “ Promise me you will always keep that joy, that fun that makes you, you.” 

Marianne surprised him as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It started as just a press of lips, but he melted, wrapping his arms around her, opening his mouth, taking in her warm breath. She did not hesitate to return his kiss, his tongue cool, but welcome in her mouth. She pulled back, staring into his ice blue eyes. “Don’t go.” 

He frowned. “I have to…” 

“Will you come back?” Marianne looked at him quizzically, pleadingly. 

“Do you want me to?” He looked surprised, hopeful. “Yes, Bog, yes. Come back.” 

He let her go, stepping away toward the window sill. He looked at her longingly. “If I can, I will…” 

* 

All the next day Marianne smiled. It was a tender sad smile. The dream (it had to have been a dream) was beautiful, a handsome man, a dance on ice, playing in the snow…her heart was happy, but longing for the achingly vivid dream…she kept telling herself…it had to have been a dream…she wanted him to come back, to taste his lips one more time. 

That night, as she took her seat by the window, a frosted rose appeared on the glass. As her eyes focused on the rose, she laughed in happiness and delight to see a tall, lanky man crouched outside waiting to be let in.


End file.
